


Extract from the first draft of "The Blood of the Lamb" (Lady Annabelle #2), by Annie Edison

by Ilthit



Series: Trope-Bingo: Round Two [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Trope Bingo Round 2, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Kink-Bingo's "bites/bruises" kink and also, because it's non-exclusive, Trope-Bingo's "AU: romance novel".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Extract from the first draft of "The Blood of the Lamb" (Lady Annabelle #2), by Annie Edison

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink-Bingo's "bites/bruises" kink and also, because it's non-exclusive, Trope-Bingo's "AU: romance novel".

The forest was dark. The moon was high. The foliage was whispering in the night breeze. The air that night, like every night, was full of supernatural romantic suspense. 

His name was Troy Barnes (note to self: change names in second draft), but the frightened villagers and glamorous landowners who owed him a debt of gratitude knew him only as the King of Clubs, one half of the best all-human vampire-hunting team in the land. He stood stock-still in the shadows, muscles taught under his silk shirt, black-steel blade at the ready. Only his cape shifted in the wind.  

An owl hooted. The King’s eyes shifted towards the branches on his right. His partner was invisible, but the signal had been sent and received. Troy shifted his weight and waited to sense the monster. 

He began his movement a split-second after he heard the rustle. A pale fleshy thing crashed through the bushes. Troy’s blade sliced through air once without connecting, then struck something soft on the backswing. The creature yelped, but there was no time to think. Vampires were fast, and already a claw-like hand was grasping for his neck. He swirled around with practiced grace and sliced the thing’s back open just as two short thick arrows hit its head and neck.

"I’ve got him!" Troy shouted as he kicked the wounded beast to the ground and reached for a stake at his belt. One stab, and the corpse was effectively deanimated. 

The branches shook as the Shaman swung himself down, still clutching the short crossbow in one hand. He was wrapped from head to toe in long coat of brown and grey midtones, as undistinguishable in a night landscape as empty air. Across his chest ran a sturdy leather belt that strapped down his quiver and bow, and his thin face was hidden under a wide-brimmed hat. Troy was one of the few who knew his name, and he never spoke it aloud. 

"Another fresh one," said the Shaman, kicking the corpse-of-a-corpse over. In death, it had shrivelled, but was still fleshy and ripe, like two-week-old meat. The gashes in its pale, half-clad body were dry. The blood it had recently consumed would be in its stomach; should they slice it, it would pour out in thick, coagulated clumps to stain the forest undergrowth.

"And in his underpants again," the King noted. "It’s almost as if Lord Jeffrey had switched to hunting men instead of women."

"That master vampire has been dead for nearly a month, killed by Lady Annabelle of the Verdant Valley pack. But I agree. We could be looking for a friend or associate — perhaps even one of his progeny." 

"That was the last of the reported sightings. Let’s get back to the village. All this killing is making me hungry."

-

Flickering lights illuminated the tavern. The fireplace blazed and chandeliers dripped wax onto old, pitted tables. Only a few workmen and travellers huddled over plates of meat and potato. A bored busty barmaid pretended to wipe down the greasy counter. The town drunk was crying quietly in the corner. 

Troy picked a table at a corner from the fire, a shadowy nook where they could watch without being seen. Their appearance caused enough comment as it was, loaded as they were with weapons and wearing sturdy leather collars, Troy’s gravedust-speckled coat barely hiding the stakes at his belt. 

"How are you on holy water?" asked the Shaman, checking his own stores. 

"Low."

"I’ll go around the corner, the Vicar should still be in. You can order for both of us. I’ll be back in ten."

"Any longer and I’ll come after you."

"Of course."

The innkeeper, a pale bald man in an oversized ruffled shirt, closed in as soon as the door swung closed after the Shaman. “What can I get you handsome boys?” he asked. “We have a dee-licious offer on mashed potato and stew.”

"I’ll have that," said Troy. "My friend will have fresh bread and pork dripping, and any fruit you happen to have. With rinds, if possible."

"My, someone mistook us for the big city, didn’t they? I think we might be able to scare up some turnips. By the way, there’s a lady across the room who is trying to catch your eye."

Troy glanced around as the innkeeper sashayed away and saw a pale woman in a white dress staring at him intently. 

He’d taken her for one of the travellers, judging by the expensive lace patterning on her dress and the lack of mud on her pearly-grey boots. Her fur-lined cloak was buttoned tightly at her throat, and her beauty was marred only by the dark circles under her eyes. When Troy’s gaze brushed across her, she breathed in sharply and grasped the edge of her table. 

Troy narrowed his eyes and jerked his head slightly in invitation. The lady grasped her sunshade and hurried across the tavern floor. “Excuse me, my name is Miss Perry, and I’m—”

"A vampire here to seduce me under false pretenses?" Troy asked. 

"What? No!"

"A damsel harassed by an evil uncle who is forcing her to marry a foreign nobleman with strange and cruel tastes?"

"No…"

Troy leaned forward, suddenly curious. “Dhampir?”

"No! May I sit down?"

"Go ahead."

Miss Perry seated herself across from Troy. He noticed that the hair carefully coiffed under her veiled hat was a rare pale blonde. She couldn’t look more like a vampire’s dinner had she been the heroine of a gothic novel. “I used to be a victim.” She slipped one gloved hand under her collar and pulled the fabric down, revealing a familiar pattern of yellow healing bruises. “I was locked up in Lord Jeffrey’s pantry for weeks before he was slain.”

"You have nothing to worry about," Troy interjected. "Well, aside from the undead creatures of the night, sexy highwaymen at every corner of the postal route and rampant, incurable syphilis, but whoever’s been causing trouble around here recently has been sticking to male victims."

"You don’t understand." The lady shook her head with a grin. "I was wondering if you knew of another vampire lord like Lord Jeffrey. You know, guilt-ridden rake, driven to drink the blood of virgins but held back by a personal code that means he’ll never actually kill you?"

"Lady, we’re vampire hunters. See?" He flashed his stakes discreetly. "If we find out about a gentleman such as you have described, we dust the noisome blaggard. We don’t keep his visiting card so we can introduce him around. And why would you want to meet one, anyway? I’ve been bit loads of times and it sucked every time." He paused to chuckle at his own pun. "Sucked." 

"Really?" She sweeped out of her seat and sat on the bench next to him in a rustle of skirts. "Where?"

"Uh, just on my arms and stuff, wherever they could reach before me or the Shaman could pulverize their asses."

"Can I see?" She lay a gloved hand on his arm and he noticed that she smelled subtly like lilac and her eyes were blue like deep sky and her bosom was heaving, and incidentally she was a total hottie in a kind of a fragile intense way that some girls might be jealous of on occasion, because just because you know you’re kind of hot in one way doesn’t mean you don’t sometimes think it would be nice to be hot in a different way. It was distracting enough that he made no move to stop her when she pushed his sleeve back. 

She gasped at the pattern of scars on his arm. “It must have hurt so much.”

"Yeah, a little." He was catching on. "I mean, the normal amount that it hurts when an unholy monster from Hell mauls your flesh." 

"Oh!" She looked at him with infinite pity and something more. Troy was into the something more. "You are so brave."

"If you look closely you can see the ones on my neck," he said, unlacing the leather guard at his throat. She leaned in, fragrant and feminine. 

"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," said a commanding voice, and both of them were sprinkled with droplets of water. 

"Oh, hi A— Shaman," said Troy. 

The Shaman frowned. “She’s not burning.” He looked at the bottle in his hand. “I hope I didn’t get another Deacon pretending to be a Pastor for a quick penny.” 

"She’s not a vampire. I asked."

Miss Perry sat up and arranged her skirts demurely. “I apologize, I have been very forward. What must you think of me?”

The Shaman cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and spoke. “Well-preserved, but still an old maid. Late twenties? No signs of childbirth or a wedding ring. Vampire-bait. Dress is an expensive hand-me-down from the last decade. Down on her luck — a gold-digger?”

Miss Perry gasped. “I beg your pardon?” 

"She did say she’s been living in Lord Jeffrey’s pantry for a while."

The Shaman slid smoothly down on the opposite bench, crossed his long fingers and gave Miss Perry a calculating look. Just then the innkeeper danced in from the behind the bar, holding two steaming plates of food. “Here we are, a nice bit of pork dripping and today’s special, stew and mash. Oh, and I see you’ve made a friend. Anything for the lady? I can recommend our wonderful meaty balls with vegetables.”

"I will have you know I do not depend on any man," said Miss Perry hotly. "I am a strong woman of the early 19th century or was it the 18th, must check notes later. The point is I am ahead of my time! I’m going to be a famous novelist!"

"How are you going to write novels in some douchebag vampire’s pantry?" asked Troy.

"It’s complicated!"

The innkeeper slid the plates on the table with an apologetic little bow. “This is a bad time, so I’ll just…”

"Stop," said Miss Perry and grasped the innkeeper’s hand. "I’ll show them I don’t need men by paying—"

"Ah-ah-ahh." The innkeeper’s face twisted in pain. "Miss, you — you’re hurting me!"

Miss Perry removed her hand as if it was holding on to something hot. The innkeeper’s hand was scolded and smoking. 

"The holy water," said the Shaman. 

Troy ran his fingers over his own still moist cheek and flicked a few droplets and the innkeeper, who flinched and covered his face. “We got a vampire here!”

The room interrupted into screams and motion. The travellers rushed to the door, trying to get out three at a time. Glass shattered.

"All right, you caught me!" wailed the innkeeper. "It’s not my fault! I promise I only killed and reanimated in self-defense. Those city boys are always picking on me!"

"Is that why they were in their underwear?" 

"Well…" The innkeeper tried an innocent shuffle, but when Troy reached for a stake he turned on his heel and ran towards the back. The Shaman and the King of Clubs were after him in a dash, jumping over overturned furniture and avoiding running figures with practiced ease. They gave chase through the back door and down the alley, as behind them there was a flash of flame.

-

"This can’t keep happening," said the Shaman. He clicked his tongue at their horses as their beat-up wooden wagon rolled down the bumpy highway. The morning sun was climbing higher behind them beyond the black smoke still rising from the center of the village. 

"It wasn’t my fault this time," said the King of Clubs from the seat next to him. 

"Or mine," said Miss Perry through the open window of the wagon. "It was the general hubbub. All that salad oil and those chandeliers -- it was only a matter of time."

"I’m still not sure why you’re here."

"You rescued me, and you’re taking me back to my uncle, who is quite benevolent and would never force me into marriage with a foreign nobleman."

"I don’t remember rescuing you," said the King.

"Or promising to take you to your uncle," added the Shaman.

"Well, if you won’t, I will travel with you and record your adventures, and when I sell my novel we will all be rich and famous and I can finally open my orphanage."

The vampire hunters exchanged a look. 

"Oh, please? I don’t… have anywhere else to go."

"All right," said the Shaman, and the King breathed a sigh of relief. "But we’ll have to think of a nickname for you. We can’t be the Shaman, the King of Clubs, and Miss Perry."

Miss Perry’s upturned face broke into a smile. 

 


End file.
